why is it that i never seem to write anything happy on this thing?

don't answer that.

anyway, for the record, i would like it to be known that I AM IN A GOOD MOOD.

that's all.

kind of. not really. but i don't feel like putting a bunch of nonsense on this thing because people don't want to read happy.

happy always seems so superficial and childish when it's put into words.

i'm going to go relish in that childishness.

it's a beautiful way to be.

and the moral of tonight's story: be okay, because if you're not then no one else is.

in case you can't tell, that was not meant to be anything close to a philosophical statement. in fact, it's a very bitter statement. here's why:

my whole life i've grappled with this idea of "walls" and "letting people in" and "being vulnerable" and "human". it's taken me nineteen years to even attempt this with people, and even still i can't successfully be "human" with everyone. until rather recently, i've allowed people to fabricate ideas of me in their minds and then, for their benefit, i've done my best to live up to their ideas of me.

why be a person to them when being an idea works so much better?

ideas, when taking the shape of a person, have a way of soothing whoever has put them together. maybe it's the predictability. maybe it's the distance or closeness expected from those ideas. or maybe i'm just going on and on about something that probably isn't that substantial anyway.

but that's not the point.

the point is, i made a decision to stop being just an idea to a very select few people in my life. i made the very brave decision of letting them in and showing them that i am in fact a very broken person who, more often than not, is need of a little taking care of. unfortunately for me, i am now seeing how stupid of an idea that is.

i now know that, in regards to myself and those i decide to associate with, i am not allowed to be the human. i am the robot; i am the one who needs to be predictable and who can't be effected by things like bad days and real people. i am best when used to take in information and spit something back out.

so when i say the moral of the story is you have to be okay, i don't mean you; i mean me. i have to be okay. the fact that i am not okay is irrelevant here because i am not the human. i am not the one who has gone through some story book like life and i am not the one who needs to tear down walls. i have to be okay because if i'm not, then it is my fault that the people around me are not okay. i am at fault because, when i'm human, whatever is wrong with me forces the people around me to suffer as well, but in a much different way that i suffer; i suffer because i forget to be an idea and start thinking i'm human. they suffer because when i act like a human, this obligation from the heavens comes over them to drop their own hardships and focus on mine.

apparently, i am so broken that it is impossible to not feel obligated to fix me.

apparently, i am so broken that it is impossible to not feel broken around me.

apparently, i am so broken that it is impossible for me to be broken without making someone else feel that plague of obligation.

so, in short, i concede.

the fact that i'm not okay doesn't matter now, so forget i ever admitted to not being okay (especially if it's that much of a burden for you). i will take on the role of the idea once more and remind myself that my suffering and brokenness is nothing compared the suffering and brokenness i put people through just by being human. i will keep to myself, just as i used to, and slowly come to terms with the fact that i was created to be used and tossed away after the entertainment or processing has been used to it's extent.

so the moral of your story is don't let the idea think it's human; keep the idea boxed in those "walls" and only let it out when you need it, because that's what it's there for right? it's there when you need it, not the other way around.

With everything falling apart the way it is, I have this undying urge to apologize to anyone and everyone: only I'm not sure exactly what I need to apologize for? Maybe it's this feeling I can't shake...the one that tells me it's only going to get even messier from here; the one that tells me it's time to let everyone get out while they can.

I don't see why that calls for an apology, but at the moment that's all I need to say.

I'm sorry.

Perhaps I'm apologetic for everything I've done (or haven't done) that led me to where I am now.

Perhaps I'm apologetic for everything that might happen as a result of what's going on now.

I don't know!

I don't know!

I don't know!

It's frustrating as hell...and as much as I know I need friends right now, I'm not comfortable with it. I don't want anyone else to have to see what might happen from here. I got myself into this and I don't think anyone else needs to be dragged in.

And you know what? That's probably what I'm sorry for.

Life would be so much more pleasant (or just unnoticeably unpleasant) if I could turn off any and all feelings simultaneously. It would be a lot like coming to terms with a hot, dry, humid day: there’s nothing that can be done to make the weather change, so why even bother thinking about how miserable it is outside. Instead, having emotions is much like having a thermostat in a small area. It’s easy to know the temperature and all it takes is a flick of a switch and suddenly air is blasting into the room and changing the climate completely. Only my thermostat seems to be constantly malfunctioning; I’ve got both hands on the switch and I’m pulling and pushing as hard as I possibly can but the switch just won’t budge. So I’m left in an insanely uncomfortable room that’s constantly oscillating between stifling hot and bone-chilling cold with a broken thermostat. I wear myself out, day after day, trying to get the damn switch to move- hoping that maybe today will be different than yesterday- but the routine is never broken. It’s an effortless set of motions that I simply can’t avoid because I can’t just sit back and accept the temperature of the room: once I do, it sky-rockets in the other direction, making it impossible for me to ever be at peace with the air around me.

Yes, I did just use a fucking thermostat to describe my distaste for my own human tendencies but so what? What would a “normal” person use to describe them; daisies and butterflies and stubbed-toes? Broken organs and insect filled stomachs? At least my metaphor makes sense.